Saturday, October 30, 2010

The Hills Are Alive

Shirt and cardigan, J.Crew. Jeans, Banana Republic. Flats, Browns. Purse and sunglasses, street vendor. Daisies, Sunset Beach.

When I debuted these tattered skinny jeans around my parents, their reactions were nothing short of predictable. Eye rolls were followed by touching the fabric and poking at holes (to make sure they were real?) and the typical snide remarks: "Did you get tangled in barbed wire?" or "You must have spent a fortune on them. I'm guessing they're priced... by the number of holes?" And still, I held my head high. For one thing, I'm used to it (see: predictable). Secondly, my parents are not always (dare I say it?) wrong. Why, only ten years ago I was leaving the house in a black tank top and an unlined, skin-tight beige mini with a zipper down the front and a zipper down the back. I repeatedly ignored my dad when he asked if I was wearing lingerie but finally decided to retire the skirt when a somewhat slutty girl in my Precalculus class asked if she could borrow it on a date, "for easy access." As offended as I was at the time, I can't help but feel gratitude looking back. So thanks, Somewhat Slutty Precalculus Girl for helping me put two and two together and slowly start changing my somewhat slutty wardrobe.
In conclusion, I still stand by these jeans (for now), but I'd like to point out that I cautiously added a touch of class with a prim cardigan and a rather Victorian blouse. Throw in a pair of ballet flats, freshly-picked daisies, and a demure smile and I've safely avoided another cautionary tale ten years from now.

I seriously doubt they're laughing at me.

Photos by Seda U.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You are one incredible writer, my Virgo rising friend.